


In Your Head

by ThatFluteGirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5760268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatFluteGirl/pseuds/ThatFluteGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has not been able to cope with the loss of Sherlock, and has since plummeted into a drinking stupor. One night, however, his beloved Sherlock returns to him, but is he really there or is it all in his head?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> Hello AO3! I have just joined and am very excited to start posting some of my works on here! This is my first Johnlock fanfic so please be gentle with it, although I would love any feedback and/or comments! Thank you all so much and enjoy!

_You know you shouldn't be doing this..._

The alcohol swishes around the glass as John fills it for the tenth time that evening, if one considers 4:00pm to be evening time. John does. These days he hardly even knows what time of day it is. He doesn't care. Keeping the blinds and curtains closed all day makes it seem constantly later than it is, which makes him feel marginally better about drinking at all hours. If he keeps the flat dark then he doesn't have to see. Doesn't have to witness a world in which he is not in.

_John, you have to stop this...you know where this will lead._

His voice, deep and resonant, fills John's mind and for a moment everything seems as if it were normal again. Right again. If he closed his eyes and tried really hard, John could pretend that he was here. That he was just sitting across from him in his chair like always, just waiting for John to ask a stupid question so he could launch into a beautifully intelligent monologue about just how dumb that question was. John wouldn't argue, he'd laugh. Laugh because he hasn't in so long and because he misses that man more than he could miss anything in the world. There's been a pit in his chest where his heart should be, but he know it will never be filled. His heart, his life, went off of that building and smashed onto the concrete along with him. John replays that moment in his head every day..every hour..every minute, his whole self aching because why couldn't he take John over the edge with him. He had to have known that John's life is nothing without his. If he had to do it, why didn't he tell John. John would have jumped with him. When it first happened he wasn't sure if, given the chance to redo it all, he'd do it but God now there is nothing in the whole world that could ever make him feel as happy and full as he did.  
A gut wrenching shudder rips through him and John opens his eyes, realizing then that his cheeks were wet with tears. It's been so long since he has truly cried, since he's felt anything.  
John can't get much farther than that because suddenly the scene in front of him stops his sob midway.  
There's a face, a beautiful, angular face he's only been able to see in his dreams, leaning towards him. His eyes are flicking over every inch of John, as if he had never seen the man before, and John can see a sadness there he's never seen before. Those bright eyes finally rest on John's and a small smile spreads across his face.

_Oh John_ , he says, and the way he says it is soft and so gentle that John could almost melt.   
_Look what's become of you. I did this. I did this to you and I am so sorry._

“Sh..Sher..,” John can't bring himself to say his name. He hasn't spoken it aloud in so long and he can't bear to say it now, can't bear to acknowledge that he's here. He's not sure if he could handle it without finally breaking. The man sitting across from him nods, encouraging John on with those eyes and that smile and God John can almost feel his heart beat again.

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock nods again, his dark curls bouncing slightly. John lets out a breath that he's been holding since he watched Sherlock fall.  
“H-How? How can you be here? This can't be real, can it? It can't be real.” Sherlock smile quickly fades.

_John...of course this isn't real. You must know that. This is the alcohol and whatever else it is that you've taken._

“You haven't deduced it yourself?” John snaps, hoping beyond hope that this is real. That Sherlock will burst into laughter and tease him for even thinking John could hallucinate something that seems so real.

_I'm a hallucination, John. This is all in your head. Nothing is as it should be_ , he says in that matter-of-fact way and John feels his heart break all over again. This can't be fake. This has to be real.

“No...” his voice barely a whisper.  
“You have to be here,” he pleads, voice breaking. “You have to be here because God Sherlock I miss you so much. I can't do this anymore without you. I need you here with me. I need you to rip this bottle away from me and tell me my jumpers look ridiculous and that I need to pay attention because dammit I can't live in a world where you do not exist-”  
John can't finish because his tears are spilling into his mouth as he talks and his eyes are so blurred that he can't see properly anymore. He slumps forward and suddenly there are two strong hands there to catch him. His face crushes into Sherlock's chest and he can feel his warmth and hear his heartbeat and smell that scent that he thought he'd never smell again, and John Watson breaks. Just like Sherlock did all those months ago.

_It's alright, John. Shh...it's okay. Everything is going to be okay._

But it won't. This won't ever be okay. 

“It will be if you just come home,” John whispers into Sherlock's jacket. He feels soft hands rubbing his head slowly and soothingly, finally resting on John's cheeks to wipe the stream of tears away.

_I'm so sorry_ , Sherlock replies and John can hear the sadness in his apology. Sherlock misses him just as much.

“I love you,” John chokes out, glancing up to look at Sherlock. “I love you. Please don't go.” There's something small, so small that no one but John could see, that breaks in Sherlock's eyes.

_I can't go if I never arrived in the first place_ , he says gently. _John, I'm not real. This isn't real. This is your subconscious telling you that you are definitely too intoxicated right now. You're hallucinating._

“You have to be real,” John says quietly, “Because why would I hallucinate you being such an ass?” Sherlock laughs and soon John is joining him. Almost as if laughing was normal to him again. They laugh for what seems like an eternity and John wishes it could stay like this forever. That he could just bask in Sherlock's laughter for the rest of his life.

_John._

There's a note of finality in his voice and John doesn't want to acknowledge it. Doesn't want this to end. He can't loose this, not again.

_John, please._

How could John ever say no to Sherlock?

He looks up at him, at those eyes that he's dreamed about and missed for so long and finally sees it. This isn't real. His beautiful Sherlock isn't here. He died on that pavement and isn't coming home. Sherlock smiles back at him and John soaks it in for as long as he can, hoping that this memory will wipe away the one of his bloodied face and lifeless eyes.

_Close your eyes._ He's so close that his breath tickles John's mouth.

John waits a moment longer before closing his eyes, imprinting Sherlock's soft, smiling face in his mind. His eyes close, with a few tears leaking out before they do.  
“Goodbye, Sherlock,” he whispers, feeling that unbearable wave of sadness wash over him.

Then there's lips pressed to his. Something so soft and yet so eager that it takes John a moment to respond, but when he does it's as if a fire has been ignited inside him. His mouth moves against Sherlock's so effortlessly it's as if they'd been doing this since the beginning. This kiss could last forever and yet it would still not be long enough for John. He was wrong before about wanting to spend eternity laughing with Sherlock. This was what he wanted. To kiss Sherlock Holmes for the rest of his life. To be so vulnerable and open himself up completely and intimately to him and to feel the thrum of Sherlock's life in his mouth.  
The kiss ends with a gasp as the two pull away, neither one entirely sure of the indescribable event that just occurred. John doesn't open his eyes. He instead sits in the darkness, still feeling Sherlock's breath against his mouth. He feels those soft lips brush against his once more, but this time it isn't as eager. It's gentler, domestic, like a kiss Sherlock would give him before he whisked away on another case. If John kept his eyes shut, he could still pretend that that's what was really happening.

_I'm sorry, John_ , he breathes out as he pulls away. _This is what's best for you. Please believe me.  
I love you._

 

And just like that, he was gone. John opens his eyes and is met with the same emptiness that he's been accustom to. He looks around even though he knows it's pointless because Sherlock isn't there. He never was. He never will be again. The warmth in his body begins to leave, the cold shell of a broken man the only thing remaining. John traces his fingers over his lips lightly, still feeling where Sherlock's lips had been. There's still warmth there, his only connection he had left to Sherlock, to the world, but that too will soon fade.

John takes another drink.

And doesn't notice the black jacket hanging over the chair in front of him.


End file.
